


You Know What Admitting Sadness Means

by murderofonerose (atmilliways)



Category: Metalocalypse (Cartoon)
Genre: And then some smooching happens, Implied Charles/Pickles, M/M, Pickles is having a bad night, Post-Episode: S02E19-20 Black Fire Upon Us, Toki just happens to walk in on it and try to comfort him
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-03
Updated: 2020-12-03
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:07:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27863545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/atmilliways/pseuds/murderofonerose
Summary: No one is handling Charles' death very well. Least of all, as Toki is about to discover, Pickles.
Relationships: Pickles the Drummer/Toki Wartooth
Comments: 3
Kudos: 15





	You Know What Admitting Sadness Means

**Author's Note:**

> The prompts were: 2, Kissing; 6, Comforting one another; 9, In bed/non-sexually sleeping together.

Both of these men are competing starfish. They’ve known this for years, since the early days of getting stuck with each other as hotel roommates when on tours, before they had enough money for the big fancy bus with separate rooms, or even hotel rooms that had two double beds instead of just one. Back in those days, Toki’s hair had still been short and he’d always, _always_ slept with a shirt on, even in fucking Florida in the summer. During the other three seasons Pickles, who tended to drink until he felt warm, strip down to his tighty whities, and half-wake up at some point in the night freezing his nuts off, had always appreciated the guy’s ability to throw body heat like a goddamned furnace. 

He had actually told him that once, and Toki had replied cheerfully that yes, he knew that, because his soul was already destined to roast over the spitfires of hell for an eternity of torment and pain for not following the rules laid down by a god that did not forget and did not forgive. Pickles had needed to take a few extra illicit substances that night just to get to sleep and forget the hauntingly empty look in his eyes while he’d said it.

These days, Toki’s hair is long and he doesn’t give two shits who sees his scars anymore. Pickles will automatically wake at the sound of retching out of decades of ingrained habit, unless he’s _seriously_ passed out, but otherwise they’re both deep sleepers and don’t much care who flops on who in the night (or day, whenever, time is fake). And they don’t _have_ to share a bed, but sometimes they do because Toki still gets nightmares. 

But since Charles died, things have been different. Everyone is withdrawn, shaken . . . and so freaked out by the Revengencer attack that they’ve literally strapped rockets to the bottom of their house and launched it into the sky for security purposes. Toki keeps his nightmares to himself because there’s already enough shit going around, he doesn’t want to add to it. 

Except, one night he can’t sleep. The pickled herring he ate earlier isn’t sitting right in his stomach and makes the thought of drinking unappealing. . . . Maybe Pickles will have something he can smoke or snort that will do the trick. He puts on his boots (Mordhaus is a constant construction zone these days, he’s learned not to run around barefoot the hard way) and clomps down the hallway in his pajama pants. 

“Pickle?” Toki stops himself just short of knocking, because knocking politely isn’t particularly metal. Instead, he nudges at it with the toe of one boot. The door creaks open a bit, so he pushes it farther and steps in. 

The room is a mess. Not that it’s spotlessly clean even at the best of times, but with all the repairs their servants are stretched pretty thin and it doesn’t look like anyone’s come to collect the recyclables in a while. It reeks of spilled beer and spirits, stale smoke, and unwashed sheets—but all that _is_ metal, so it’s probably fine. 

What isn’t fine is Pickles, who’s clutching his pillow to his chest instead of laying on it and thrashing sluggishly under just a thin blanket, obviously trapped in a nightmare of his own. Before he can decide what to do Toki steps on a can, and the crunch of aluminum sends Pickles shooting bolt upright with a strangled yell. 

“Sorries!” Toki yelps automatically, holding up both hands. “Sorries, Pickle, ams just Toki!”

Pickles stares at him, wide-eyed and panting, then blinks hard until some of the wild, sleep-glazed look fades from his eyes. “Toki?” he asks hoarsely, and coughs. 

“Sorries, I couldn’t sleeps and I thoughts maybe Pickle will had somesthing whats maybe helps, ands the door—”

“Toki,” Pickles interrupts. To Toki’s surprise, it looks like his eyes are already red-rimmed, not in (just) a super fucked up way but like he’s been crying. His eyes are even starting to well over. Pickles takes a deep breath, and the rest comes tumbling out in a thin, scratchy wail: “Toki, I couldn’t save ‘im an’ he died an’ he, I couldn’t—H-he’s just dead, he’s dead an’ it’s all my fault!”

Fuck not caring about each other by band agreement. Toki is at his side in a second and pulls the smaller man into a tight hug, a cold lump of metal pressed between their bare chests as though Pickles is wearing some sort of necklace with a pendant on it. Tears form in his own eyes because he knows exactly what Pickles means. Toki hasn't dreamed about Charles, but they’re all feeling the guilt these days. For not appreciating him enough when he was still alive. For not getting there in time to save him. Hell, even if Toki had gotten there earlier he still would’ve been too loaded to be of any use, Nathan would’ve had to do it all alone. . . .

“Ams not your faults, Pickle.” Toki tries to reassure, but at the same time this feels like what he’s witnessing might go deeper than simple guilt. Pickles is _shaking_ , pressing streaming eyes against Toki’s shoulder and bawling into his chest. This is something far more raw and brutal, devoid of any of the trappings of pretending not to care. Right now Pickles clearly doesn’t give a shit about what anyone thinks. 

“He’s gone, he’s goooooooooone!”

“Theres there,” Toki mumbles, rubbing his back awkwardly—a tiny gesture in the face of a giant tsunami of grief. 

He holds him until the sobs die down, until Pickles moves to unexpectedly return the embrace. 

“Feck. Toki, I’m . . . I’m real fecked up ri’now, c’you jest—”

“I won’t tell no ones,” Toki assures him quickly. 

At the same time as Pickles says, “—kiss me?” The drummer pulls back just enough so they can make eye contact. “Please, jest, close yer eyes and lemme pretend it’s him, jest one last time. . . .”

“Whats,” Toki starts to ask. He’s interrupted by lips crashing into his, facial hair scratching and tickling around his mouth. 

Pickles kisses him with longing and passion and urgent desperation the likes of which Toki has never experienced before, not even _close_. The swamping wave tumbles him head over heels, making it difficult to tell up from down, waking him up in ways he hadn’t even realized he’d been tired; the kiss tastes like booze and snot and sleep-breath and dispair. And maybe . . . maybe it is their manager Pickles wants to be kissing, for whatever reason, but Charles isn’t here. God, fuck, _Charles isn’t here_. It’s just Toki, and Toki wants to comfort his friend (and maybe even be comforted in return, even if his own feelings don’t run quite as deep). 

They spend the rest of the night together in Pickles’ bed. Sometimes Pickles dozes off, then wakes crying again. Sometimes they end up making out like their lives depend on it, and sometimes it’s slow and soft and so tender that Toki’s heart aches. But eventually Pickles drifts off and stays there, breathing slow and even against the crook of Toki’s neck; he’s finally gone past the dreams to the other side and is actually getting some rest. 

Toki has so many thoughts about everything that’s just happened that he doesn’t expect to fall asleep himself, but eventually he does. 

Both of these men are starfish, but tonight it’s less competition and more collaboration. Pickles lays sprawled on top and Toki stretches out beneath him, one arm looped protectively around his friend. Between the two of them, they manage to take up the entire bed. 

Even the empty side.


End file.
